


0 ABY - The Job Offer

by Anonymous



Series: Hardships of Fett [2]
Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Alpha Anakin Skywalker | Darth Vader, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Boba 'I work until I die' Fett, Boba Fett Needs A Hug, Darth 'When you find out you have a son' Vader, Omega Boba Fett, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, boy the previous work messed him up mentally, comic book, paranoid boba fett, set immediatly after ANH
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:08:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28443687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: "Honestly, Boba knew that finding and catching Goetia is considered a 'fluff job', considering that it was Goetia's ex-sugar mommy that posted the Wanted Alive pucket. However, it was good pay, and Boba honestly wasn't in the mood."Sometimes, Boba just wants to paid and to wallow in his self-pity heat by himself. However, when a certain Dark Lord wants to learn the name and backstory of a certain pilot, his plans change.
Series: Hardships of Fett [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2080965
Comments: 1
Kudos: 10
Collections: anonymous





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> pls be gentle, I'm new to this concept of O/B/A

"-listen, I can pay you double, even triple for what you are getting paid for!-" the green Mirlalan pleaded, his light blue eyes wide in a show of innocence, the smell of a distressed Beta practically leaking from his every pores. The Mirlalan was wearing expensive clothes, and clearly knew he looked good in them, judging by how they were preening to his small party earlier. "Please!"

Boba said nothing, simply throwing them into the prison hold, locking the cage behind his bounty. "Be glad I'm bringing you in alive." he bluffed, before turning on his heel sharply and climbing the ladder to the next level of Slave I. He continued to climb, passing the cargo hold until he reached his small kitchenette.

Sighing loudly, he pulled his buy'ce off. His curls draped down his shoulders, having pulled loose from his top knot, likely when his bounty, Cade Goetia, tried to pull it from his head. The idiot didn't know that his buy'ce was sealed and will remain sealed until you pull two clasps off at the same time on either side of the buy'ce, carefully hidden. The Omega scrunched up his nose, the smell of Goetia finally rising from the hold.

Honestly, Boba knew that finding and catching Goetia is considered a 'fluff job', considering that it was Goetia's ex-sugar mommy that posted the Wanted Alive pucket. However, it was good pay, and Boba honestly wasn't in the mood.

Every god-damn year, he always gets 'Empty Nest Syndrome' and usually just lies in his bunk for nearly two weeks until he gets a stress induced heat, which turns the fearsome Boba Fett into a whimpering mess. Logically, Boba knew it was his bodys way of dealing with the 'death of his child', seeing as how his body went from supplying his ad'ika with a healthy amount of milk to suddenly having no use for it. 

Well, that's what the common reply to his holo-net searches, and Boba had even emailed a therapist using a fake name (Jango Mereel, how original of him) to explain what he was going through. The therapist, having just been paid a fair amount by someone random, had quickly responded.

Shaking his head of those thoughts, Boba searched for his supply of scent suprecents. After his incident, which led to his banishment, Boba has became paranoid that someone will get a brief smell of his scent (the smell of fresh rain and spice, which he found very ironic, considering he was raised on a water planet and his buir made heavy use of spice in his dishes) and try to get more of what he was clearly not offering. He looked down at the pills in his hands, and reasoned that he had enough to last him a few days.

Plan forming in his mind, Boba quickly swallowed down his daily pill, before serving himself caf, without any milk or sugar. He took greedy gulps, the caf hot on his tongue and when it ran down his throat before pooling in his belly, warming himself from the inside out. His left hand rubbed at his stomach, the muscles jumping underneath his finger tips.

He still remember when he was first showing, unimpressed with the small bump that was slowly taking away his proud abs he worked hard for. Sintas simply laughed, her slightly smaller hand resting above his, reminding him that it simply appeared smaller, due to how strong his core muscles were. He simply grumbled, but nosed into Sintas' scent gland, relaxing at the smell.

Tearing his hand away, Boba finished his cup of caf and made his way into the cock pit, checking that the co-ordinates were exactly right, despite checking before he picked up his bounty. He sat in the pilot's chair, grumpy, as he began to process to jump to lightspeed.

Just two more days, then Boba Fett will be taking his month long break, suddenly much richer. Boba gripped the controls tightly, despite having set Slave I into auto drive. 

This is what Boba hates. The build up. The way his muscles would tense up, tight and un-yielding yet filled with energy, his body screaming at him to do something while his mind wanders back to his faint memories to looking down at his ad'ika. 

The journey to Coreilla was long, the stars streaking past in bright blue/white blurs, giving his armour reflecting them the same colour tint. Every so often, Boba would make the journey into the hold to check on his bounty. Every time he went down, the Beta would try to barter and even bribe him into setting him free. Boba would only grow more irritated with Goetia each time.

"Listen, Amara sent you, yeah?" Goetia said during his last check before he came out of hyperspace. "Amara is crazy! Sure, she's rich, and hot, and very charming, but you can't trust her, my friend!"

"I'm not your friend." He growled out, his shoulders tense. "And I don't care. Credits is all I'm after."

"Oh c'mon Fett! I'm sure we can talk this out, Beta to Beta!" Goetia pushed, and Boba nearly laughed. Goetia thought he was a Beta? How amusing. "C'mon, what do you say?"

"No." Boba bluntly said, before climbing up the ladder, Goetia screaming after him.

"You'll regret this! My death will be on your conscious!" He shouted dramatically, before Boba was too far away to hear the obnoxious Mirlalan.

Boba huffed, sitting down in his seat as he pulled back the lever for lightspeed travel, the Slave I rocking slightly as it smoothly slid out of the fast travel. He could see Coreilla, the planet's blue hue hidden by both smoke and smog. Thankfully, his client was in the better area of the planet, away from all the pollution.

"Slave I, this is flight control, I need your permission codes to land in sector A6." A woman's voice crackled over his ships comms. He huffed, but sent the codes the client provided for him. "Permission granted. Have a safe landing."

Easily as breathing, Boba guided his ship down into one of the private landing pads, unsurprised to see his client, Amara De Sol, waiting for him, dressed in both silk and exotic furs from a rare species that Boba knows is close to extinction. Sighing, Boba stands and begins the process of wrangling Goetia out of his hold and down his ramp.

"Amara! How lovely to see you!" Goetia coos when they reach Amara and her group of guards. "You know, I was going to come back. I couldn't leave you, my love."

Amara raises a thin eyebrow in response, and Boba couldn't smell her scent, seeing with how much perfume the woman had put on herself. Smart. Much easier than taking suppressant pills.

"Cade, did you honestly think you could run away with my money? You have never been so shy, yet you step on everyone's toes as you leave." She tut's, reaching out with her long nails to grasp Goetia's arm tightly. "Don't worry, my Beta, I forgive you."

  
"O-oh?" Goetia says, licking his lips in interest, his scent betraying how eager he was. Amara then turns to him, ignoring Goetia at her side.

"Boba Fett, your reputation precedes you. As promised, I have delivered 50,000 credits into your account as soon as I saw that my darling Cade was alive and unharmed." She said, nodding her head, large earrings bobbing before she dragged Goetia off, her guards following at her heels, both literal and metaphorical.

Boba stared after her, with her tight grip on Goetia and stopped himself from snorting. As if De Sol would risk losing her favoured Beta.

He entered the Slave I, taking his time to reach the cock pit. When he did, he froze. His comm was flashing. Licking his lips underneath his helmet, Boba squared his shoulders and sat in the pilot's seat before answering.

"Boba Fett, I have a job for you," a familiar loud and dooming voice said, accompanied by the sound of loud, automated breaths. Darth Vader was looking at him, his dark helmet and blood red glasses seemingly peering into his soul.

"Lord Vader," he greeted, stomach turning into knots. His mind raced. Darth Vader has often used him as his go-to Bounty Hunter, either wanting information or strange relics Boba has no care for. Sometimes, he has this weird feeling that sometimes Vader creates excuses to waste his time. Not that he could say that to the Lord. "What is the job?"

"As you are aware, a Rebel pilot managed to blow up the Empire's Death Star," Darth Vader began. As if Boba didn't know. It was the only thing the Imperial's News was reporting, on how many innocent lives were lost during the destruction, how heartless the Rebels were, how cruel. "and I want you to find the identity of the pilot."

Boba was silent, thinking it over. Due to Rebel propaganda and gossip, he already knew that the pilot was from Tatooine. If he could push it, he could find the identity of the Rebel, send it off to Darth Vader and have his stress induced heat as soon as he was done.

He gave a slow nod of acceptance. "I accept. You will hear from me in a few days, Lord Vader."

"Good. The boy was the companion to a man named Ben Kenobi-," Kenobi? Behind his buy'ce, his eyebrows were raising in surprise. "-and his name is Luke. Find his surname, and do no disappoint me, Bounty Hunter." Lord Vader demanded, a hint of Alpha in his tone to make Boba's skin crawl, as the last time he heard someone try to use their commanding Alpha voice on him was when he began carving out their cowardly heart. The connection cut out, leaving Boba alone in the silence, his heart pounding and stomach heavy.

With shaky fingers, he set the course for Tatooine. From the short list, Boba decided to begin his search in Mos Eisley. It was the largest space port on Tatooine and was highly likely that the pilot, Luke, would have payed for passage.

Ben Kenobi. Kenobi. Boba hasn't heard that name in, what, nearly eighteen years? Boba doesn't have anything to compare it to, seeing as how he has already forgotten his age. He knew he was in his early 30s. Maybe Boba needs to write things down more often...

Could this 'Ben' Kenobi be related to famous Obi-Wan Kenobi? Or, Boba thought, could even be Obi-Wan himself. He knew that Kenobi was never killed by the clones or by Darth Vader, seeing as how large the bounty was for the Jedi. Ex-Jedi?

"I need to stop drinking so much caf." He grumbles to himself, jumping into the nearest hyper-lane that will lead him to the famous dust ball itself. Standing, he let out a groan as he stretched his muscles, trying to ease the strain in his shoulders. Grumbling, Boba made his way to his small cabin and began to remove his armour.

Once he had a neat pile of green armour, Boba set to removing the jump suit and padding, leaving him in just his leggings. Sighing and running a hand through his thick curls, he made a face when his fingers caught on small tangles.

Stepping into his refresher, Boba started his shower, forever thankful that his buir replaced a sonic shower with a real shower with real water, which he usually gets from cheap water planets to refill his supply. The hot water did help in soothing him, and Boba began to clean his hair with his cheap two-in-one shampoo and conditioner. 

Damp, his curls have became more loose, showing Boba that his hair was just past his shoulders. He has no cut his hair in some time, seeing as how he never takes his buy'ce off unless he is in the Slave I. He mused if he should shorten it as he rinsed out the shampoo before picking up his scent blocker shower gel.

Squeezing the bottle, Boba frowned when nothing came out. He shook it roughly before trying again, cursing his luck. Just to make sure, he popped open the nuzzle and peered inside. Boba sighed heavily when it was confirmed that yes, it was truly empty.

Grabbing his normal soap, he scrubbed roughly at his scent glands on his wrists and either side of his neck, trying his hardest to get rid of his scent. Glands rubbed raw, Boba was finally satisfied and turned off the shower, grabbing a towel to do a quick pat down before he wrapped it around his hips, enjoying the feel of the soft, fluffy material.

Stepping out of the refresher, Boba walked over to his bunk, picking up his night clothes. He's been wearing the same things for years, only buying new ones after he literally wears the previous pairs down. He picked up his favourite nursing shirt and loose bottoms, easily dropping the towel onto the bunk to slip them both on.

As he began to dry his hair, Boba thought that nursing shirts should not be so comfy, at least his style. He liked them soft to touch, yet heavy enough to not irritate his (then) swelling breasts by being too light and rub against his nipples. The bottoms are loose, allowing them to breath after wearing his leggings and trousers for how many hours at a time.

Checking the time, Boba sets an alarm. Enough time for him to get ready, eat his first meal and land his ship to begin his hunt. He slowly relaxed as he rubbed his head against his pillow, his own weak scent calming him from the well washed material. 


	2. Chapter Two

Waking up to the feeling of his stomach cramping was the worst, as Boba could feel his stomach muscles flexing and jumping, his skin pulled tautly. Worse, his lower back was in agony, a hot searing poking feeling spreading across his lower back and just above his tail bone.

His morning was made worse by his alarm shrieking, purposely turned loud to force him to act. Groaning, Boba turned his alarm off and lay in his bunk, feeling miserable. He sighed loudly, before finally willing himself to move. He kicked his covers back and swung his legs over the side of the bunk, his bare feet hitting the cool metal floor of his ship.

Boba quickly made his way into the refresher and turned on the lights, grimacing when he caught his reflection in his small mirror as his cramps eased. Some of his curls have thickened while some large clumps have relaxed, turning the hair into heavy weaves, likely from resting his head against the pillow.

"Hello handsome," he bitterly joked to himself, raising a hand to touch the newly forming eye bags. Boba frowned. While he tried not to be vain, despite having a ridiculously large amount of credits, both from his buir and his jobs, Boba kept himself a strict amount of rules: no drugs, no alcohol (aside from blending in during his jobs, hiding his gags as he does) and no pre-marital sex. Granted, he made the last one in a fit of rage when someone tried to prostitution him, the memory of the bastard's hands still fresh in his memory.

Boba huffed and picked up his de-tangle brush, eyeing his curls, before declaring war and began to softly de-tangle his hair, relaxing the tight curls and helping form the curling weaves into loose curls. Hair brushed, Boba grabbed his hairband and began the process of putting the strands into a tight high knot. 

Granted, it was either a high knot or shaving his hair, and Boba didn't want to look like a clone, even in the privacy of Slave I. 

Hair did, Boba quickly washed his face and exited the refresher, climbing down the ladder to the small kitchenette, which still the small dent his buir put it into by accident, and

Boba trailed his fingers across the dent, a small smile tugging at his lips.

He still doesn't know how his buir made the dent, even years later.

"Let's see my options today; ration bar, ration bar, oh, another ration bar," Boba dryly commented to himself, picking up the closest bar after he opened his small cupboard. He unwrapped it and began to eat it, unflinching at the bland taste.

While Boba tries to eat normal foods, sometimes he just stockpiles ration bars. It was a very bad habit, and Boba tries to break it, honest! Every month, when he needs to buy another monthly supply of suppressants, Boba Fett goes shopping. Not just any shopping; food shopping. 

Well, food shopping with a little bit of window shopping with all the latest guns and weapons available, Boba carefully committing the models and names to memory.

Granted, the shop keepers first think they are getting robbed when they catch sight of him, covered head to toe in armour and padding. Each time he visits, they visibly relax, until words get out that the famous Boba Fett shops at that particular store, and he is forced to find a new shop to suit his needs.

It gets tiring, is all the grumpy Omega is saying.

Finished his ration bar, Boba hunts for a mug as the caf dispenser begins to crush the caf beans. Picking up his mug, he places it below the dispenser, tapping his barefoot, a Mandalorian lullaby making its way past his lips. His humming stuttered, and Boba panics. What comes after 'Glory To The Brothers, Who Bring Glory To Mandalore'?.

His buir would be so disappointed in him and the thought makes his chest tight. Boba had promised to remember, to sing the lullaby to his ad'e, as his buir would slowly sing the song, Boba resting against his chest and feeling the vibrations that lulled him into sleep, even back then. 

Fingers suddenly gripping his counter in a death grip, Boba takes a deep breath before slowly letting it go.

The dispenser pings.

Boba took in another breath. "I need to calm down. Just find the pilot's name, and I'll be done. Easy." he says to himself, taking his mug of caf and taking slow sips, ignoring how his hands shake ever so slightly. 

He was the son of Jango Fett of House Mereel, grandson of Mand'alor Jaster Mereel the Redeemer. He was like his armour, forged from pure beskar and unyielding under pressure. Boba Fett of House Mereel would not break like poorly forged durasteel.

It doesn't matter that his mando'ade forsake him, calling him dar'manda simply for working with the Empire. They had followed the former-terrorist Bo-Katan Kryze and self-proclaimed Mand'alor and suffered for it, while Boba just watched on the side-lines. He was a Mandalorian and followed his buir and ba'buir's moral code.

That does not make him soulless. If anything, it makes him stronger. Boba has been playing the long con, slowly inserting himself into the Hutt and Imperial's good sides. He has enough blackmail to do damage to both empires. So far, he never has any use for it. At least, for now.

He tries to be neutral, Boba thinks as he checks the time. The rebellion, as hopeful as their ideas are, just can't afford him. Even if they did topple the Empire, what happens next? The economy would likely crash, putting the poor into even further debt as the core and mid-rim suffer. It will be chaos and many will suffer needlessly.

He stays as far away as he can, mostly staying in the outer-rim. And, in his honest opinion, the people were much nicer, less prone to the strict Alpha/Beta/Omega bullshit they have going in the Core and mid-rim, despite the high demand of pretty Omega slaves with the Hutts'.

As if Boba is going to allow himself to stay at home and look after his ever-growing horde while his 'Alpha' sees other Beta's and even Omega's behind his back. No thank you.

No matter what the Emperor says, the old Alpha has no control over how he is going to live his life.

Boba goes back to his quarters, stripping off his night clothes. He first puts on his leggings, followed by his jumpsuit and chest plate, securing the slightly faded green painted beskar onto the carefully hidden magnetic pins. Lastly, he picks up his buy'ce, seeing his reflection in the dark screen.

Narrowing his eyes, Boba secured his buy'ce into place, sealing shut with a hiss before the filter systems start to work, supplying him with his reliable air supply.

He climbs up the ladder to sit in the cockpit, checking how far he was until he reached Tatooine. Only a standard hour. Good. Unable to help it, Boba checks the co-ordinates again and even checked the hyperspace calculations. He relaxed into his seat once he saw that he had, of course, put everything in perfectly.

His hands flex, before he rests them on Slave I's control, the silence suffocating him.

His thoughts went back to one of his many jumbled inner rambles to himself. Before the Empire, the Republic was better, if only slightly in regarding the treatment of secondary sexes.

Well, Boba didn't get to experience life as a young Omega, due to trying to murder Mace Windu. Even worse, he got his first heat in prison, surrounded by aggressive Beta's and Alpha's, with the occasional Omega criminal thrown in.

Thankfully, his roommate was Bossk, who found his scent 'weird' but went to stand by their door, hissing at anyone who got close and beat off anyone brave enough to try and get past. Including the clones, once they realized that Boba was having his first heat.

One even tried to soothe him with their Beta scent, managing to sneak past Bossk, which was too similar to his buir's and he snapped, biting at the guard's hand until he felt his teeth crack most of the bones in the Beta's hand.

They left him alone with Bossk after that, after it was confirmed that yes, Bossk may be a murderer and Alpha, but he hates pedophilia and finds humans disgusting in appearance (but found Boba 'cute' and subsequently got smothered by the Alpha who recognizes a distressed child in need of protection, heat or no heat.)  
It was a weird two days, even if he got semi-adopted by the Trandoshan.

He was brought out of his memories by Slave I's alarm, signalling that he has reached his destination. Boba reached over and pulled back the lever, jumping out of hyperspace with a slight jolt as Tatooine came into view, the planet looking dry and unappealing from even space.

Boba flew over to Mos Eisley's space-port, landing in a free port. Turning off all the engines, Boba then moved to climb down the ladder, until he was in his docking bay. Opening the hatch, he was greeted by the harsh light of Tatooine. Ugh.

A woman, with a head of thick curls and wearing a worn jumpsuit, greeted him. "Howdy, stranger. Peli Motto, at your service." She said, her tone a mixture between cheerful and bland, which was an interesting combo.

She looked unimpressed at his ship, and maybe even by Boba himself. Hmm. Maybe he will need to apply a fresh coat of paint for Slave I.

"Look after the ship. I will not be gone long," he said, hand grabbing the small bag in which he stores his credits. He plucked a few credits out before handing them over to Motto, who raised her eyebrows. "If anything happens to my ship, I will hunt you down and carve out your heart."

"Cheery one, aren't you?" she mutters to herself, nodding. "Don't worry, mister, I won't let anyone touch your ship, with the number of credits you just gave me."

Hm. Seems like Jabba is reducing the flow of credits again. What an idiot. Boba just gave a slow nod, before striding off, heading for the cantina. It was mid-day, just past midmeal, judging by the twin suns position in the sky. Despite this, the cantina was full of rowdy patrons, laughing and drinking.

When he entered, Boba was glad for his buy'ce filtering system, otherwise, he would get a face full of Alpha and Beta's, their scents thick from not washing, giving them a disgusting odour. It was hot in the cantina, causing many to visibly sweat. He couldn't stop the sneer pulling his lips at the sight of the crowd.

His entrance was noticed by some, who eyed him and his armour, those who recognize him turning away. He strode in confidently, ignoring some of the whispers. "Isn't that Boba Fett?" someone whispered.

  
"Thought he would be taller," someone answered, causing his hackles to rise.

Now, Boba knew that he was average height, if slightly below. It wasn't like it was his fault. He was fed well by his buir until his death, and after his death, Boba's carefully planned diet went out the window. He was still taller than his buir ever was, something Jango proudly told him whenever Boba would whine about his vegetables. 

He stood in the middle of the cantina, clasping his hands in front of him. He waited, knowing that people will quieten down. Eventually, the cantina was silent. "I'm looking for a boy. He's a pilot. An associate of Ben Kenobi and a-"

"Only boy I see is you, Fett." A voice says, hiding among the crowd.

Boba turns his head in the direction of the voice, his eyes narrowing behind his buy'ce. "Who said that?"

"I did." The voice says as the owner finally stands, revealing themselves to be a large alien with six muscular arms with pale skin, and red eyes that seemed to try to stare into his soul. Now, Boba says to try, because despite being very much taller than him, Boba felt nearly bored.

They wanted to start a fight with him?

"Good." That was all he said, before leaping into action, tackling the alien to the ground. Despite being taller, Boba had the advantage of being of average height, meaning that his centre of gravity is much lower and easier to control.

Taking out his vibroknife, Boba slashed through one of the arms as the alien screamed, trying to throw him off. Boba simply locked his legs around its chest, one of its arms falling to the ground, blood squirting onto the cantina's floor in a very impressive display.

While the alien was screaming in agony over its sliced off arm, Boba took the time to break the other two arms in the most painful way possible, rendering one side nearly useless. Satisfied with his work, Boba stood off the now sobbing alien, who was staring at the growing puddle of blood in horror, red eyes switching between his severed arm, his stump, his other two broken arms, and Boba himself, fear in his eyes.

"I've just removed one of this thing's arms and broken two others. Who here knows the boy's name?" He demanded to the silent audience, a wave of pain rolling around his hips before fading as fast as it appeared.

The bartender spoke up, hesitant. "We don't know who you are talking about. If he did come in here, he never said his name."

Boba stared at the audience, patiently waiting for a guilty party to flee, to break. His heart was racing, blood rushing through his ears, but one doesn't become the best by giving up. He instantly knew he had his man when he saw a young man try to run.

Boba threw out his whip cord, snaring his prize. He advanced on the farmer, judging by his poor choice of clothes, who was shaking and had a fearful look on his face. Boba grabbed the farmer by his tunic and threw him over a table, deciding to use his imitation factor to help get the information he needed. So, Boba crouched over the terrified farmer, the vibroblade sharp against the man's adam's apple.

"You must know who I'm talking about. The boy. Give me his name, or I shall take my time peeling your skin." Boba calmly said, staring down at the young man. As expected, the young man caved rather easily. The young ones always do, when confronted with Boba Fett.

"His name is Luke Skywalker! He's the one you're looking for! I...I swear!" The young man shouted, gulping when he pressed the blade a bit harder against the skin.

"Who is he?"

"Moisture farmer and a bush pilot. Lives with his aunt and uncle. Used to hang out at Tosche Station with Biggs and...we called him...Wormie. Please don't hurt me anymore." The man begged, eyes glistening with gathering tears.

  
Skywalker, huh? He hasn't heard that name since the Clone Wars. As he was pondering on Skywalker's super-secret son, since Boba knew that Jedi could not marry or have children, he pulled out his blaster and point-blank shot the farmer. Blinking, he looked down at the farmer.

Well, maybe he should lay off the caf. He's starting to get an itchy trigger finger.

Slowly, he stepped back off the table, releasing his whip cord, which sprung back into his gauntlet with a near-silent hiss. Taking one last look around the cantina, he scoffed, making his way out of the hell hole, making sure to kick the still sobbing alien on the ground as he hostelers his blaster.

Boy...he has not been a boy since he watched his father get decapitated. And some wonder what was wrong with him. If only they knew what has happened to Boba Fett to turn him into a good bounty hunter. 

It was clear that Boba was not allowed the one thing he craved most; a family of his own.

Boba quickly made his way back to the spaceport where true to her word, Motto has been watching his ship, seemingly playing cards with a small repair robot. She waved at him as he walked past and clicked her tongue in annoyance when he ignored her.

Back in his ship, Boba headed straight to his cockpit, using his holo-communicator to call Darth Vader. His mind wandered as he waited for the Dark Lord to pick up. He snorted. He was calling Darth Vader like an ex begging to be taken back. Boba amused himself with the thought of Lord Vader on his knees, begging to be taken back by a random woman, an expensive bouquet in one gloved hand...

"Fett. Come aboard my destroyer, we have things we need to discuss." He heard Lord Vader rasp before he cut the connection. Hidden beneath his buy'ce, his mouth dropped open in surprise. And then pinched together in annoyance.

Why the hell was Vader making everything complicated? He could have just had easily sent the information via holo-recorder, but it seems that Vader likes making Boba run around like a headless chicken, for whatever reason. His amusement, most likely.

Grumbling, Boba accepted the co-ordinates that were sent by Vader, pleased to see that Vader was waiting above the planet Naboo. It took less than two hours to reach Naboo, having to dock on the large ship before being escorted to the bridge, where the Dark Lord was staring out into the endless black sea of space, his back to Boba.

"Did you bring anything of value, bounty hunter?" Darth Vader rumbled, his slow and measured breaths echoing throughout the room.

Boba licked his suddenly dry lips under his buy'ce, feeling his skin prickle under a heavy un-seen pressure. He knew it was Vader, with his Force bullshit, and the vivid memory of Ventress strangling him, cutting off his air as he choked and gasped, freshly fourteen--

"Not much. Only his name." Boba paused, shifting his weight. "Skywalker."

There was silence, save for the man's loud breaths. Then, "Skywalker," the name was hissed like Vader's mask couldn't decide if it was said softly in shock or anger. 

Boba didn't flinch when the glass in front of Vader, which was near unbreakable, cracked deeply with a loud snap, the splinters deep and ragged. He was only glad that Vader had redirected his anger, despite how his stomach tightened in both fear and pain. He knew that he could easily strangle everyone on the command deck. Maybe he might spare Boba, for 'future use'. 

He knew how men like Vader worked, not wanting to spoil their tool's uses too soon.

He eyed the glass. Even if it did break under the Dark Lord's rage, Boba had a supply of oxygen that could last half an hour. Plenty of time to drift into space, call for the Slave I, and flee.

The room was silent, save for Vader's loud breaths and the noise of the workers maintaining the ship. No one dared to break the silence.

"You shall get your credits, Boba Fett." Darth Vader suddenly boomed, not turning around.   
Taking it as his cue to leave, Boba did so, making sure that he was calmly walking away after turning his back to Vader. His heart was beating so fast and hard, he was sure everyone could hear it as he walked past them.

Was Vader threatening him, trying to test him? He never refers to him as 'Boba Fett', only 'Fett' or 'Bounty Hunter'. His stomach cramped again, his nerves on fire with anticipation. This time, he truly didn't know if the pain in his stomach was from his cramps or from how his body, his instincts, recognizes Darth Vader as a very powerful Alpha?

As he was nearing his ship, he got a notification from the hub in his buy'ce, confirming that the credits have been moved into one of his many accounts. Holding his breath, Boba walks past the lingering engineers or stormtroopers that look achingly like clone troopers and into his ship, closing the ramp behind him as soon as he could.

Hands shaking, his nerves erratic and his stomach feeling like someone has dug a knife into his guts, Boba quickly sat in the pilot's ship, putting the co-ordinates to the other side of the galaxy as quickly as he could, taking off with one hand with the practice of being both the pilot and co-pilot for many years.

"Fucking Skywalkers, always causing trouble for the rest of the galaxy," Boba muttered to himself as once he was clear of the large star destroyer, he entered hyperspace. The stars blended into white lines as the Slave I went faster than light. He shook his head. "It's always a Skywalker and Kenobi."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was fun to write! I dunno why, but I enjoy writing Boba's inner thoughts. The man had spent the last fifteen or so years alone, without anyone to talk to. Now, I'm not saying that this would happen to everyone, but when Boba is ranting to himself, he is dissociating to a degree. It's why it seems that he thinks for a few minutes and boom, he is suddenly where he needs to be, despite the long distance it would have been. Boba also has a very negative mindset, with his off hand comments about being only seen as a tool and, excuse my phrasing, a breeder. 
> 
> Everyone is intersex, with O's being most likely to carry the easiest, while A's are better with siring and B's being normal aka normal in real life, save medical conditions like PCOS. 
> 
> Also, in this AU, Vader is totally just finding excuses to hear Rex's voice, in case people were wondering. It's heart warming, if down right creepy, due to Vader thinking that Rex is dead.

**Author's Note:**

> Look at me, trying to word build terribly! Honestly, still not very confident with my little mini-series. So yeah, now our favourite bounty hunter is paranoid about everything and everyone. Whoops? It may seem a bit extreme, considering this happened nearly 15 years ago in cannon (is it still cannon?) and boy, I crunched the numbers and found out that in ANH Boba is at least 31. He is 34 in ESB and maybe 35 in RotJ. Despite this, I looked this up at he is somehow 38 in RotJ? eh. Anyway, it was deeply traumatic for Boba and he sort of blames himself (his scent) for the incident.
> 
> But yeah, Boba now hates everyone, especially very demanding alphas, equally. Also, I don't know if this is because I'm ace, but I write anything that involves genitals very blunt? Honestly, main reason why I don't write any smut. It will be 'A puts penis inside B's vagina' which will be very dry, if you pardon the pun. And not very sexy.
> 
> Yeah, so my idea is that heats are just cramps/periods. Same idea with the scent suppressor pill, aka the period pill. Omega's get the worst versions, Beta's are just normal and Alpha's rarely have them, or have 'ruts' aka get very horny. Maybe it's because I am trying to apply real life logic to a fictional concept I am trying to work with? idk.


End file.
